Oblivious
by kiwipixel77
Summary: Lydia's trying to get her Thane to notice her, but dammit, he's so oblivious. The progression of Lydia and her Thane from friends to lovers, set in a series of short stories/one-shots. Mostly Fluff. Rated T for possible future stuff.
1. Friends

**A/N: Hey readers! So after my one-shot "Last Letter" (which you should totally read if you're in the mood for sadness) I decided that I'd continue on with the story of Lydia and the Dragonborn. Well, not really continue on, but sort of building from it. My Dragonborn is the same guy here as in that story.**

**So I guess this is not really a collection of one-shots. But I guess it kind of is. I'm not really sure. It will be chapters based on moments in time where, at first, Lydia starts to fall for him, up until she realises she loves him, and continuing on to her trying, ****_desperately,_**** to get his attention. But of course our favourite hero remains completely oblivious. And the Housecarl is, as always, socially awkward and fails miserably. We'll see where this goes.**

**And I realise this whole Lydia+Dragonborn thing is kind of overdone, but whatever. I'm such a rebel.**

**Anyways, read on, and please review with any thoughts/criticism/flames/whatever! I'd just really appreciate some feedback.**

**Enjoy!**

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Lydia was jerked awake to a distant howl piercing the cold starry night. She was frightened for a moment, and dazedly pulled the furs closer to her, but she relaxed after she heard the crackling of a fire and saw the light flicker through the grimy hide tent walls. Her eyes were puffy from sleeplessness and she should have tried to fall back asleep, but in all honesty she had been having a nightmare and was silently thankful for the wolf's wail. Of course she would never mention this to anyone.

So she lay there for a few moments, listening to the fire, trying to forget what had startled her in her dreams. She sighed, accepting that she couldn't while laying here, and with reluctance she threw the warm furs off her body and slowly, stiffly, rose. Her back ached from too many nights sleeping on the ground, and lately from sleeping in her armour. She could not afford the comfort in exchange for a surprise attack in the night. For her Thane's life.

She crawled out of the tent on all fours, iron armour scraping against the barren rock, and she stood up with a stretch, pulling out the tautness and smoothing her aching muscles as she breathed deeply of the fresh cool air. She shivered in the breeze and looked around.

She and her Thane had been on a mission in the Reach for the Companions the past week, and making their way back to Whiterun had them camped on the grassy hills just west of Rorikstead. Soon they would be back in Whiterun Hold, and not a moment too soon. Lydia _hated_ the Reach with a passion. Well, not the Reach, to be exact, but the fact that astonishingly large bands of crazed Forsworn had attempted, many times, to eradicate the travelling duo. And they weren't above night raids on their little camp, hence why the Housecarl had been sleeping in her armour.

Her Thane had decided to pitch their tent near a rather steep cliff, which incited her protests, but she humbly agreed with him after he explained to her that the cliff meant the Forsworn could only attack from one side. Not to mention the large lone pine tree nearby which helped to block out the frigid westerly autumn winds. But she had to admit the view was breathtaking. The vast open sky created a sense of endless freedom that, though she was used to the sweeping plains of Whiterun, had a different feel. Wild, feral even, and more alive. She could see the lights of Rorikstead in the distance, and she thought if she squinted hard enough that the fires in Solitude were the cause of those faint twinkling lights to the north.

She cautiously stepped closer to the ledge to get a better look at those lights, but a voice from the darkness made her jump in fright for the second time that night.

"Don't get too close, Lydia. I _really_ don't feel like climbing down there and scraping you off the rocks."

She whipped her head around and there was her Thane, sitting on a rock near the fire with a sly smile on his dark face and amusement in his eyes. She glared at him. She forgot he was on guard duty.

"Of course, _my Thane_," she said with a hint of irritation. "I wouldn't want you to trouble yourself." She probably shouldn't have spoken to her Thane in this manner, but he had scared her, and he knew it. She tensed in anticipation of his rebuke.

He merely laughed. She relaxed.

He was not one to order people around, and he never got angry with her. In fact, he treated her more like a friend than a Housecarl. Which was odd, to say the least. Her intensive training for this position had ingrained in her mind the fact that her future Thane would most likely be a very large, very mean Nord with a scarred, hardened face and a personality to match. So one could imagine her shock as she looked upon her Thane for the first time and found he was the total opposite of what she had been expecting.

He gestured for her to come sit by the fire, and she was tempted to simply stomp back into the tent with not so much as a backwards glance, but a particularly cold gust of wind convinced her otherwise. She crossed her arms to keep warm and sauntered wearily over to the fire with another shiver running up her spine. This armour could protect her from the claws of a dragon, but not from the biting Skyrim weather. No, not even her Nord blood was enough. Not tonight.

She had to sit next to him on the rock as it was the only one close enough to the fire. But she didn't mind. She could still look out over the plains and hills below.

The Imperial was lounging comfortably on the rocks, and the Housecarl winced as she sat down cross-legged next to him. How he was not in pain was anyone's guess.

When she settled down he straightened up a bit.

"You're getting quite the tongue there, Lydia. Soon you'll be able to keep up with me." He playfully jabbed an elbow into her ribs which she ignored. She could see his breath in the air.

"Well, my Thane, when one has the pleasure of travelling with such a revered person, she tends to pick up on some of his habits. Admirable or not."

He laughed again, louder this time, and she could no longer hold her anger. He had an infectious personality that not even the frigid night could dampen.

"See? Look at you! You make me so proud," he teased, lightly clapping her on the back. She said nothing.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, both staring into the embers and listening to the almost utter silence of the night. Despite only knowing her Thane for a few months, she felt relaxed around him, which, again, was odd. She had expected to be standing at attention the rest of her life, ready at her Thane's every beck and call. Not that she was complaining, though. It was nice to unwind sometimes. She never really had that luxury, and she was still learning how to deal with it.

After a little while her Thane broke the silence.

"So, when we get back to Whiterun, I was thinking I'd get Adrianne to patch up my armour. That saber-tooth nearly ripped me in half yesterday." Lydia tore her eyes from the fire and looked over to him. He was examining a rather large gash through the leather covering his chest area.

"A sound plan, my Thane."

"Lydia, please, for the _thousandth_ time, it's Cato. Not 'my Thane'." His voice wasn't irritated or exasperated. It was monotone. He had said this time and time again.

She rolled her eyes and he continued.

"It's going to be expensive. It's a pretty big tear. But the damned cat's hide will help pay for it."

She laughed internally but quickly stopped as she recalled the horror that the large cat had caused her yesterday. She had thought for sure that the huge paws had ripped right through his light armour and had torn into his skin. There was one terrifying moment as he lay still on the hard ground after being thrown through the air like a child's toy by the animal. And in her rage and fear the Housecarl had thrown herself back at the cat and finally managed to put a sword through it's neck.

Her Thane was alright, though. It had only caused a small cut and a bit of bruising. A few health potions had fixed it.

She had convinced herself that her concern for his life was merely the product of her oath to protect him, and her fear of facing the jarl with the news that she had failed in her duties. But she knew there was more than that. Perhaps even more than the fact that they fought so well together, and it would be a shame if she was reassigned a Thane.

He glanced over to her. "Thanks for that, by the way. I'd probably be inside the stomach of that animal right now if you hadn't been there."

She blushed slightly at the compliment but waved it away.

"I am sworn to protect you with my life."

He gave her an exasperated look, but she continued to avoid his scolding. "Why do you insist on wearing that leather armour? It tears too easily," she asked. "If you wore the heavy stuff you wouldn't need to get it fixed so often."

He smiled again and grabbed the long stick he had been using as a fire poker, pushing around the burning wood absentmindedly. "I know. It can be a pain sometimes, and it doesn't really do much against heavy weapons. Or cats, apparently," he said as he gestured to the tear near his chest. "But I find that it allows me to move easier. To dodge out of the way, I guess. I figure that avoiding getting hit in the first place is better than being slowed down by iron or steel armour and getting all banged up."

It made sense to her, she supposed, though she still preferred her own heavy armour. She felt safe in it. And she doubted that his small stature could even support the weight of heavier armour.

"I can repair your armour for you, my Thane." He gave her another irritated look. "Cato," she corrected. "I can repair it. I'll do so as soon as we get back."

"Lydia," he said with a sigh. He pushed a large log over and the embers flickered up in one big rush. "You don't _have_ to do everything for me, you know. You're going to have a good few days' rest when we get back." She was about to protest but he added, "I'm quite capable of surviving on my own."

She wasn't really offended by this, though she thought she perhaps should be.

"Well, if you don't need me, why do you insist on bringing me along?" _More like dragging me along_, she thought.

His smile softened and he said, "for the company."

She blushed again, face growing red and hot despite the cold, and reached for the stick in his hands. She started poking at the fire for something to do. The little golden flecks swirled up into the vast inky sky and it was hard to tell what were stars and what was fire.

He realised she was uncomfortable and attempted to change the subject. "Sooo," he drawled, pretending to examine a scar on the back of his hand. "What brings you out of the warm tent on this lovely evening?"

She couldn't pass up her chance.

"The company," she retorted.

His laugh was nothing short of hysterical. It boomed out across the hills, echoing through the grasses and rocks of the Reach, and she couldn't help it.

She smiled.

"Ah! There it is!" he cried out suddenly, startling her. She looked over to him questioningly. "I never thought I'd get to see it!"

"My Thane - " she started.

"Lydia, it's Cato," he cut her off.

"Cato, I don't - "

"You smiled just then. I don't think I've ever seen you smile."

She stopped cold and an icy silence filled their little camp. She was shocked at first and didn't say anything. He watched her intently with a blank expression, but she could see in the flickering firelight that his eyes held great interest.

"My Th- Cato," she corrected when she finally found her voice. She was looking into his face. "What in the name of Talos is _that _supposed to mean?"

He had expected her to react in such a way, and was not taken aback by her fractious tone. He gave a small smile.

"I'm simply saying that you don't smile enough. You take this whole Housecarl business much too seriously. Lighten up a little."

How dare he- how could he-? She had no words to describe how angry she was right now. She was performing her duty to the very best of her abilities. She had fought for and trained years for the honour of holding this position. She was silently disappointed when she was first introduced to him, but she held her tongue. She had been his pack mule while she followed him across Skyrim on every stupid errand he did, and she was tired and cold and bruised nearly every hour of the day. And he had the nerve – no, the _audacity_ – to tell her to 'lighten up'?

It took every ounce of her brute strength not to throw her fist in his face.

He laughed again, watching the rage and disbelief flash across her face.

"See? You're doing it now. It was a joke, Lydia. I didn't mean it."

No, it wasn't a joke. There had been truth behind his words. His laughing was only irritating her now.

When he figured out that her silence meant she was not impressed in the slightest, he admitted that he'd gone too far. She was a new friend, and he was still figuring out how she worked. Apparently she very much disliked jabs at her work ethic.

He sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder. She tensed but didn't move, still staring into the fire. He had to repair this. The tension in the air was tangible.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"Hm," she mumbled.

"Honestly, he added.

"It's alright, my Thane. I will try to be less formal in the future," she answered stiffly. She had no right to be cross with her Thane.

"No, it's not alright, Lydia. I'm sorry. I know you take this job seriously, and that's fine. But you don't have to talk to me like a king, for gods' sakes," he chuckled.

Her expression softened. He let go of her shoulder and followed her gaze back to the flames.

"It's weird, you know. I don't like it. I know I'm Thane and all, but I just can't get used to it. I've never had people under my control before. And you know how clumsy I can be. That would be a disaster! Can you even imagine?"

No, she couldn't. He would probably end up accidentally sending an entire army over the edge of a cliff.

"I'm not going to order you around. You're my friend, and I don't want to do that."

She froze for a second. Friend? Cato thought of her as a friend? She was taken aback, but something inside her softened.

She'd never really had a friend before.

Lydia let go of a breath she didn't know she was holding, and he could tell by her posture he had been forgiven.

After a moment of silence he stood up and stretched.

"Well, I think I'm going to bed now. It's after midnight, and my watch is nearly over. Is that alright?"

She nodded, still staring into the fire, but she could make out his slender form from the corner of her eyes.

"Alright. 'Night, Lydia," he saluted. He stepped over to the tent, but just before he bent down and crawled inside he paused and looked back to her.

"Hey," he called softly. She looked up into his grinning face, and his bright brown eyes, so different from the pale blue of the Nords she was accustomed to, caught her breath. "What I said earlier, about your smile. I meant it. You should do it more often. It suits you." He smirked again and went inside the tent.

The rest of the cold windy night passed with Lydia gazing into the flames pondering what her Thane had said.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she shouldn't be so serious. And maybe she should lighten up a bit.

She smiled at the thought. He _was_ right. It did suit her.

* * *

They had walked the whole morning, right from dawn, in comfortable silence. In fact, they'd hardly spoke at all while folding up the tent and putting out the fire. The most they'd done was sneak a few curious glances at each other.

Lydia's mind was still contemplating over last night's conversations, and she stared at the ground, her boots crunching the frosty grasses. She didn't notice when they finally crossed into Whiterun Hold and the rolling hills gave way to flatter plains where the giant mammoth still roamed free. As such she was not paying attention to where she was walking. Some animal bone jutting out from the frozen ground, hidden by the grasses, caught her foot and she fell forward. Her packs were full of useless junk her Thane had burdened her with, so she could not manage to catch her footing. She was dragged to the ground.

Cato heard her fall, and he turned around to see her struggling to stand again. He rushed over, and Lydia suddenly found a tanned hand offered in her face. She took it gratefully and he pulled her up.

They stood facing each other for a moment, hands still together, and a blush found it's way to her face as she smiled again. Gods, what was _wrong_ with her? Couldn't she face him without turning into a beet?

He returned the gesture and said, "See? It's not that hard."

He let go of her hand and turned around, leaving her there smiling in the grass with his touch still burning her hands.

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**A/N: Btw, "Cato" is pronounced "Kay-toe". It's a Roman name, as he is an Imperial. And yes I know it's lame. **


	2. Leaving Me

**A/N: Wow! Thanks for all the favs, follows, and reviews guys! I really appreciate it! It motivates me to write more often, and it means so much that people actually read, enjoy, and look forward to more.**

**As such, I spent all day writing this for you! It was fun, and I hope you enjoy it!**

**And you probably shouldn't expect updates every three days. I'm getting really busy with uni again, so chapters will be sporadic.**

**Also, there are a couple of swear words in this chapter. Just letting you know.**

**Valerianus: Thanks so much for your review! I really appreciate it! And I'm glad you like my Dragonborn's name. I wasn't too sure, but you convinced me. I really hope you like this chapter!**

**Guest: Thanks! I'm glad you liked it! Enjoy!**

**RedBlue101: Thanks! Glad you're enjoying it so far! Here's your next chapter :)**

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"Shit, Lydia, hold up. I need to sit down."

Cato's strangled words pierced the silence like a blade. The Housecarl turned around, her heart still pounding in her chest, to look back at him. She could barely make him out in the pale light, but she could see he was clutching his right shoulder and bending over in pain. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and his eyes were shut tight, obviously attempting to block out the agony he was in. His left hand was flat against the damp rocky wall of the tunnel, holding his weakened body upright.

She wanted to let him rest. She truly did. But she knew that they needed to get out of here.

"My Thane, we can't. We need to keep going." Her voice was barely above a whisper and it quavered in fear and adrenaline.

Cato sighed, eyes still shut, and after a moment he opened them. They were full of pain, and Lydia felt a twinge of pity.

He shook his head ever so slightly, and looking her in the eyes muttered, "I can't. I'm sorry."

He was too exhausted to say anything more, but Lydia could see he was pleading with his eyes. She stood there, frozen, her legs facing forward into the dark unknown, her upper body twisted around to face her Thane. The tunnel was absolutely silent except for the sound of dripping water, her Thane's ragged breathing, and her own thrumming heart. After a moment's contemplation, she nodded back and carefully tread over to him, stepping over boulders and across small pools of water.

He sighed in relief as she reached him and helped lower him to the ground in a sitting position against the cold stone wall. He winced and hissed as his shoulder moved, and when he was finally sitting, he sighed, closed his eyes again, and leaned his head back against the wall. He didn't even care that he was sitting in a puddle and that the holes worn through his leather boots were letting the cold water in. He just wanted to rest.

His Housecarl was crouched beside him, rummaging through her uncharacteristically light pack. She grumbled in frustration as she felt around for the familiar glass flask of a healing potion, but she couldn't find one. It wasn't helping that the only light in this damned place was the strange glowing mushrooms growing seemingly from the stone. She couldn't even seem to find a stamina potion.

Her hands grasped onto a book, and she took it out of her bag, reading the title of it. She huffed in irritation and was just about to throw it back down the passage they came when she felt a weak hand grab her by the arm.

"No," Cato mumbled, eyes half open. "Keep it."

"My Thane," she protested, shaking his hand off in irritation. "I can't keep holding on to it. We're not going to find out what happened, anyway. Just let me get rid of it."

He shook his head silently, and she felt her fury roar up inside her.

It was this stupid book's fault they were down here in the first place. Some Altmer magician had asked them to kill the giant spider blocking the entrance to this Dwemer ruin. Nchuand-Zel, she thought it was called. Simple enough task. But Cato had been simply enthralled by the ruins. He'd never seen anything like them before. Apparently they didn't have them in Cyrodiil. Lydia didn't care much for them, but she could see the appeal to an outsider. They were massive, and beautiful, and so very _different_ than any other type of structure found in Skyrim. Or anywhere else, really.

So he had been adamant that the two of them explore the ruins a bit more. Just a bit, he promised. Enough to get a real up-close and personal view from the inside. She had never been inside one herself, but she had heard the bedtime stories warning of hideous, pale-skinned demons and enormous strange machines dwelling deep within. So, though she had no desire to find out if the rumours were true, she grudgingly agreed and had followed him inside.

That had been, what? Six days ago now?

Cato coughed painfully, and Lydia was wrenched from her reverie. She tossed the book back inside the bag with an exasperated sigh and continued digging around.

She managed to pull out a cloth wrapped around a stale piece of bread. Having nothing else to go on, she unwrapped it and broke a chunk off, offering it to her Thane. She nudged his forearm to get his attention, and he cracked his eyes open just enough to see it and shake his head dismissively.

"My Thane-" she started, growing impatient. How did he expect to heal when he was refusing her help?

"I'm tired of stale bread, Lydia. It's getting old. I want a nice steak of venison. And some potatoes and carrots. And a giant tankard of mead," he finished with a smile. More of a grimace, really.

She rolled her eyes at him, but in the dim light he couldn't see it. "Stop talking like that. You're making me hungry."

"Then you eat the bread. I don't want it. I'll just wait till we get out of here."

She was getting more irritated as time wore on.

"You're not going anywhere if you don't get better soon." She lowered her gaze to his shoulder.

He opened his eyes halfway and, like her, looked to his bloody and torn arm.

"Yeah. It's pretty bad, isn't it?" he asked weakly.

She didn't want to say anything, but yes. His shoulder was ripped up fairly good. They'd removed the shoulder pads and Lydia had used a dagger to cut off some of the leather armour around his wound so it didn't irritate it as he walked. She wrapped his shoulder with an old shirt, but it was stained with blood and she didn't have a new one. He'd drank all their health potions, and then their stamina potions, and most of the food. All they had left was the bread, but she didn't tell him that. She looked at the slice longingly, and her stomach rumbled again, but she wrapped it back up and tossed it inside her bag.

She ignored his question and pulled out her water flask. Cato had emptied his yesterday. Well, she thought it was yesterday. She hadn't seen the sun in so long.

"Here. At least drink something." He looked from his shoulder up to her, and before he could protest this time, she had lifted the opening to his mouth and tipped it back. He coughed and spluttered, but gulped it down his parched throat.

"Gods, Lydia. Are you trying to kill me?" He coughed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"If I wanted to kill you I would have left you back there with that Centurion."

An hour or so after they had gone through the doors of Nchuand-Zel, Cato had come across a tattered book. He'd read it, seemingly fascinated by whatever was inside, while Lydia waited around for him to finish. It was a journal, he told her, written by someone named Stromm. Apparently this Stromm guy had been part of an expedition into the ruins, and had lost his excavation team along the way. And of course, Cato had been captivated by Stromm's story, and had begged Lydia to come along with him deeper inside to find this man.

Lydia had not been happy ever since they'd crossed back into the Reach to visit Markarth. The last time they'd been here was only a few months ago, and in that time her Thane had nearly been eaten by a saber-tooth and skewered by the Forsworn. So, she was _not_ excited when he announced to her they were returning, and as such, she had been somewhat irritable the entire journey.

Cato had sensed her displeasure, and that was why he'd tried to convince her to find Stromm instead of simply ordering her to follow him. Which, by the way, he rarely did. He just _really_ wanted to find him and see more of this ruin. He knew how to approach her when she was in her moods, which were few and far between the past while. She had taken his advice to heart and had lightened up a bit, though he never pointed this out. He did not wish to bring up that conversation again.

So, she reluctantly agreed. She knew he wouldn't go deeper if she refused to accompany him, and she knew he wouldn't force her, but she felt she should uphold her duty as Housecarl and follow him wherever he wished to go.

It had gone well at first. They'd killed a few more spiders and some Falmer, which were just as revolting as the stories described. Cato had searched through every chest and barrel looking for evidence of Stromm, and when he came across a small Falmer settlement, he had practically squealed with joy. Lydia had to admit it was interesting. The blind little monsters were smarter than she imagined, having set up houses and animal pens, however crude they were. Cato, being of the curious and scholarly race of Imperials, wanted to know how they'd built their structures and how their culture functioned. His Housecarl couldn't care less. She had been growing impatient and had finally managed to urge an excited, eager Cato from the area deeper into the ruins. Had she known what they would encounter she would have dragged him out of there by his collar.

Cato laughed, but he was cut short and gasped in pain. Lydia was becoming desperate. She needed to heal him soon, or he really wouldn't be leaving this place. Her heart sunk in her chest as soon as that thought crossed her mind. She never really thought about Cato's death before. Except that one time with the saber-tooth, but she had refused to accept that he might be mortally wounded. She had never even been afraid as they faced down dragons. Now, though, she wasn't convinced.

"My Thane, are you alright?" she asked, real fear lacing her tone. She placed a hand on the side of his face and felt his forehead with the back of her other hand. He was warm. Too warm.

He seemed not to have heard her and he tried to steady his breathing as he clutched at his wound.

After another moment in the dark, damp, silent tunnels he opened his eyes to look at her. If she had been frightened before, she was absolutely terrified now. His usually bright brown eyes had gone dull, and they held an acceptance and recognition that she had never seen before. Well, she had, but only…

No. He wasn't doing this to her. He couldn't. Not yet.

Only in men who realise their time has come.

Their own expedition had turned south soon after they left the Falmer settlement behind. Apparently it had only been an outpost, and the two had stumbled upon an enormous city of the creatures. It had been a tough fight, and both had received many wounds, though they had healed them with potions and rest. During the battle they got turned around and no longer knew where they had come in, so after much arguing they took a random passage. A day or so later Cato had started feeling nauseous and weak, and within a few hours he had thrown up the bread and apple he had eaten for supper. He insisted he was fine, so they continued on. But he could barely keep his food down, and he had grown pale. At night she could hear him toss and moan in his sleep, and he'd awake in a cold sweat.

But their trouble really began after they happened upon an old dormant Centurion. Sensing the presence of intruders, it whirred awake, huge amounts of steam hissing from it's hinges. Lydia had defended Cato from smaller machines the past little while, but she had never expected to see one this large. And _furious_. It slammed its warhammer and battle axe into the stone floor, desperately trying to flatten the pair of imposters. The Housecarl knew she couldn't fight it off alone, so she went to get Cato out of there. But the giant machine had made it to him first. In a blur of colours and steam and cries of pain, the Centurion managed to catch Cato's shoulder with it's enormous hammer just before he rolled out of the way.

Lydia had dragged her unconscious Thane out of the chamber and into a dark side passage a moment before the machine broke the rock around the entrance and sealed them inside.

And so they had been wandering down the chamber for days now, frantically seeking a way out. Lydia eventually discovered that Cato had been nicked with a poison blade back at the Falmer city. The small phial of Cure Poison had not been enough. It was already too far into his bloodstream to do any good.

She let go of his face and shook her head furiously. The silence of the passageway intensified, and she felt it thrumming in her ears. "No, my Thane." She paused as her breath hitched in her throat. "I'll get you out of here." She lifted her head up and hectically looked around the tunnel, as if the answer or the way out would suddenly show itself.

"Lydia," he whispered, and his voice was so calm. She refused to listen to him or look into his eyes. She was blinking over and over, trying to keep the tears from spilling over the brim of her eyes. His tanned face had gone ghostly white and beads of sweat rolled down it. She resumed her futile search of her pack.

"There has to be something…" she muttered angrily.

"Lydia, please," he said again, louder this time. But she wouldn't listen. Her heart started racing again and it became so loud she was sure Cato could hear it.

"I'm so tired…" he drawled, and her panic kicked up a notch. He was slipping.

Gods, it was so dark in here. If only she had a little more light…

An idea dawned on her suddenly. "Magic!" she nearly shouted, and she furrowed her brows in concentration as she conjured up a tiny ball of light in her palm. She used it to pull out a flask and read it's label. It was Restore Magicka.

She gulped the whole thing down and her stomach lurched. She should not have taken that much, or that fast, but she was desperate.

She concentrated even harder than before, trying to produce a Healing Hands spell.

Lydia had never learnt magic as a child, always having been brought up with the notion that if you were strong enough, you could kill your enemy before they ever hurt you. There was no need for her to learn it. Cato had limited knowledge on the subject as well, but he insisted on teaching his Housecarl some simple spells in case of an emergency. He'd mostly taught her the healing spell, the light spell, a ward spell, a fireball spell, and a few other simple ones. She'd never really used any of them outside of practice until now. It was very difficult for her to produce anything. Magic had to be taught young, or people 'hardened' over the years and it became tougher to learn.

She could feel the magic inside her twist and turn as it thirsted to bend to her will. It _wanted_ to be used. She just had to let it be.

The pressure was building up and right as she thought her head would explode with the effort, her magic broke free of it's restraints and swirled around in her hands, lighting up the tunnels that had remained in the dark for centuries with a sharp orange glow.

She laughed as the pressure receded, and immediately she placed her hands directly on Cato's wounded shoulder. It opened up again as he cried out in pain, but as the spell went on and Lydia felt her magicka drain, he relaxed and sighed contentedly. She placed a bloodied hand on the side of his face gently, trying to spread the spell into his body to get at the poison.

When the spell ended and the passageway was plunged back into darkness, she dropped her arms and was left there kneeling by his side panting with the effort. She sat down and leaned against the wall beside him, and mirroring him, she closed her eyes and rested her head back.

Both adventurers rested there in silence, listening to the water drip from the ceiling into the puddles all around them. After some time Cato spoke softly.

"Gods, that felt good."

Lydia, having rested long enough, opened her eyes and glared at him. He had a smudged red handmark on his cheek, and she thought vaguely that it looked like a tattoo.

"You stupid ass," she growled as she punched him in the arm. His left arm, not the wounded one, and rather hard.

"Ow!" he half-wined, half-laughed. His voice echoed down the halls. "What was that for?"

"For dragging me down here. For not listening to me." She paused for a second before continuing. "For almost giving up on me. You would have left me here."

"It's not like I wanted to, you know," he countered as he rolled his shoulder, trying to smooth out the ache of where she hit him. He dared not lift his wounded arm for fear that the pain would return.

"Whatever. Just don't even think about it again."

"Fine. I'll try not to get poisoned and bashed with a fucking giant hammer again."

Lydia gritted her teeth. She could not believe she was arguing with her Thane right now.

"Fine," she harrumphed, turning away from him.

"Fine."

With a sudden burst of anger she leaned over and picked up her pack, and he stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. She rummaged around in it again before pulling out Stromms' journal and immediately throwing it down the tunnel. It disappeared from view and landed with a thud and a splash into a relatively deep puddle.

He looked over to her incredulously and she gave him a wickedly satisfied smile.

"There. Should have done that six days ago."

For the first time since entering the ruins, complete and utter silence fell. Lydia's heart had slowed, and Cato's breathing had evened. Even the dripping water seemed to have stopped. The entire place was holding it's breath.

He got over his disbelief a few moments later and laughed aloud. It was his real laugh, not the strangled one he had used the past few days. She looked right into his eyes and, though they were not bright like normal, they no longer held that terrifying finality.

All her anger at him disappeared and she found herself smiling and blinking back tears. She placed her hand on the back of his neck and leaned forward until her forehead was touching his in a sign of camaraderie.

She had never been this close to his face before. He was sweaty and grimy and needed a shave, but she smiled and he smiled back.

"Seriously, though. Don't ever think of leaving me again, or I'll hurt more than just your arm."

"I won't," he whispered.

"Good."

And she believed him.


	3. Imperial Bastard

**A/N: Hello again! I was playing Skyrim the other day and I realised that, for a supposedly racist province, it doesn't do a very good job at making you feel like you're discriminated against if you play as anything other than a Nord. For example, guards won't let Kahjiit into the cities, but they'll let you in if you're one. And I'd think Imperials and elves, especially High Elves, would most definitely not be allowed into places like Windhelm. So, naturally, it inspired me to write this!**

**Springbox: Thanks so much for your review! I'm glad you like Lydia. She's hard to portray properly because she doesn't talk a lot in the game, and yet she can play a huge part in the Dragonborn's story. I'm glad I'm on the right path! Enjoy this chapter!**

**Thanks for the reviews, follows, and faves! Like I said before, it really means a lot. **

**Enjoy, and if you are so inclined as to post a review about what you think, I'd be very much obliged!**

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"I can't believe we let provincials like you wander Skyrim."

Cato sighed. He'd heard this before.

"Well, you do." He continued marching through the streets, eyes on the dirty, snowy ground. Lydia was right behind him. A little too close, maybe, but she was nervous. They shouldn't have come here.

"What was that? You lookin' for a fight, Imperial?" The big potbellied Nord called out to them in a thick accent above the crowded market square. Almost at once a hush descended upon the normally buzzing array of shops and stalls. Eyes wandered curiously over to the Nord and the two travelers who had by now stopped in their tracks to look back at him. The people around them had silently moved out of the way creating a rough circle around the three individuals. The snow fell lightly from the grey winter sky, and it seemed almost peaceful if one didn't consider the fact that a very irate, very scary-looking giant of a man had threatened two strangers in the congested plaza.

A tense moment passed before the Nord man, who had blue eyes, blonde hair, and a tangled braided beard to match, marched over to the pair and stood towering over them. His fists were clenched by his side.

"I _said_ are ya lookin' for a fight?"

Lydia's heart dropped in her chest. She knew this would happen at some point. She'd been lucky, she guessed, that it hadn't happened before.

Her Thane had got himself into fist fights in the past. It wasn't a rare occurrence, really, though she never enjoyed watching him get beat by the others. He normally won, seeing as most who'd challenged him had been drunk or desperately trying to prove their prowess, and the small man had seemed the perfect opponent.

But this time it was different. This man was _huge_. He was so close she could see the stains on his worn yellowed doublet and smell the ale on his rancid breath. Either he was a drunk with nothing to lose or an off-duty soldier with a grudge.

Both options were not desirable, and she really wanted to get out of there.

Apparently Cato did too. After sizing up the man and deciding he wasn't worth it he answered in as amicable a voice he could.

"Ah, no. Not really. Sorry." He jerked his head at his Housecarl, gesturing to leave. They turned around before the man reached out and placed firm, massive callused hand on Cato's leathered shoulder.

"Yeah, I think you are."

Cato couldn't have moved if he wanted to. The Nord had him held firmly in place. Clenching his jaw, the Imperial brushed off the man's hand and turned around. Lydia tensed, heart racing.

"Look, I don't want any trouble," he said quietly, taking step back. "We're just passing through."

"Just passin' through, are ya? Ya shouldn't 'ave come here in the first place." The Nord boomed out and took a step closer.

Lydia was stood right behind her Thane and to the side. She was so close that her body was pressed up against him. Glaring at the man, she clenched her own fists in an attempt not to throw them into his ugly face.

Cato held up his hands apologetically. "We have some business here and then we'll be on our way."

The man took another step towards them, boots crunching in the snow, and they backed up a bit. "Ha! Business? Would that business be spyin' for the Empire? I bet there's more of you rats scurryin' around here."

Cato really didn't want to get into an argument with this guy, but he was exhausted from travelling and tired of the jabs and looks he'd received recently.

In their entire year of travelling together, him and Lydia hadn't entered the city of Windhelm once. It was Ulfric's kingdom, the Stormcloak stronghold, and an extremely racist place.

Cato was by now used to the discrimination he received from people on a near daily basis. Being an Imperial in a land of Nords fighting against your race had not been easy, but he'd learned to just ignore the slurs and the stares.

Lydia, however, found it much harder to ignore. She could not believe how mean some people could be. She had always thought her race to be a friendly one. Sure, she'd seen some real blockheads in her time, but they were few and far between. Most Nords were honest, kind, hardworking folk who'd welcome travellers with open arms and full mugs of ale. But travelling with Cato had shown her another side of her people she'd have been happy never knowing about.

They had stared at him, glared at him, laughed at him, pointed at him, spit on the ground as he walked by, and charged him more for food and rent and supplies. He had been the butt of everyone's jokes, the underpayed, overworked errandboy, and not worthy of an ounce of respect, despite being the fabled Dragonborn. Not everyone had been like this, though, especially those that sided with the Empire, but more often than not he had to grin and bear it.

Lydia herself was not innocent, however. She had treated him poorly when they first met. He was, to her, someone not to be trusted. Jarl Balgruuf had seemed insane for giving the enemy the honourable title of Thane. Her Jarl had not taken a side in the Civil War, but she knew he was in favour of the Empire. Balgruuf's brother and Housecarl, her father Hrongar, on the other hand, hated the Empire with a passion. Lydia, being young and somewhat more open-minded than her stern father, had looked at both sides of the issue, and while she didn't exactly hate Imperials themselves, she had decided that Skyrim belonged to the Nords and as such should be rid of their influence. Her prejudice got the better of her, though, and she had been extremely disappointed in being assigned Housecarl to this short underfed man. He hardly seemed like he could lift a sword.

But as time wore on, she saw he was quite capable of handling himself in battle. She had never thought about it before, as she'd never met many Imperials, but as they travelled and came across members of the Legion, she began to notice that all of them, not just Cato, had slender builds. They were somewhat shorter than Nords as well. Most warriors she had met had been large, burly bearded Nords with thick armour and even thicker skulls. Farkas, Cato's Companion friend, was a prime example. Those Imperials, though, were crafty and smart. No wonder they had conquered most of the continent.

She was beginning to think that maybe the Imperials weren't really small after all. Her own race towered over all the others. Maybe they were just exceptionally large.

But the minds of the Nords had been poisoned with the assumption that all Imperials, and in extension all other races, were unworthy and therefore must be removed from their homeland.

And so this was why they hadn't visited Windhelm before now. The apex of the anti-Imperial campaign resided here, and both Lydia and Cato knew going inside would only amount to unwanted trouble.

But they were on a mission given by the East Empire Company to deal with some pirates at the docks of the city. It promised good coin, so they had trudged all the way from Solitude to here. It had been a long, tiresome, absolutely freezing journey, and Cato was perhaps happier than he should have been when Lydia pointed out the ancient stone walls in the distance.

Getting in to the city had proved to be easier than both had thought. A few well-placed words with the gate guard and a conversation nearing a threat got them unbridled access to the entirety of Windhelm. But once inside, they found the citizens were harder to persuade.

Cato sighed again.

"If I was an Imperial spy do you think I'd be travelling with a Nord?"

Lydia's stomach flipped as the man glanced over to her, rage filling his icy eyes.

"She could be part of the Legion too. I've seen some Nords in their ranks. Traitorous bastards," he grumbled, and she got the feeling this man was harbouring hatred for someone he knew who'd left to join them.

People were openly staring at them now. Some had even come out of their shops to watch the spectacle unfold.

When the pair didn't answer, the man went on.

"Skyrim belongs to the Nords, Imperial. This is _our_ home," he pointed a fat finger at his own chest. Cato sighed. He really didn't want to hear this again. He was tired of all the lectures. The Nord started pacing in front of him, hands clenched, shoulders rigid.

"All we want is to worship Talos in peace. We helped you win the Great War. We were allies once. Friends even! We sacrificed our lives for _your_ goddamned war. We helped _you_ push the elves out of the Empire, and _we_ were the ones you came runnin' to." He stopped pacing and turned to face them. His deep voice was raising and he pointed an accusing finger at the Imperial. The market was deathly silent as all eyes were now on the three in the centre.

"And what thanks do we get? None! We're not even allowed to worship our own God! You Imperial bootlickers ran from the elves with your tail between your legs! Ya should 'ave stayed and fought for your home! A true warrior wouldn't 'ave cowered behind some treaty!" He was shouting now, and a few of the more active city guards had made their way over to see what the commotion was about.

Whispers and murmurs ran through the crowd, and a few people yelled out "here, here!" or "Imperial bastard!", though Lydia managed to catch some of their quieter words. Most were in agreement with the Nord.

Cato watched the man inexpressively. This only angered him more.

He growled and walked right up to Cato, their noses nearly touching. The Nord was sweaty and his face was red from anger. He poked Cato in the chest rather hard.

"You're weak, Imperial."

Hot rage coursed through Lydia's body and she made to push the man away, but Cato touched her forearm lightly, stopping her without eye contact.

He thought he could reason with this man. He obviously had an issue with his race, and judging by the fact the Nord hadn't already thrown a punch, he thought he could work his way out of this one diplomatically.

He straightened up, but even so he only reached the Nord's thick beard.

"Imperials aren't your enemy, friend. The Thalmor are."

"Don't call me friend, you bastard," the Nord spit at him, eyes flashing with fury.

Cato winced but chose to ignore the insult.

"I'm not defending the Empire or my people. I know what they did was wrong." The Nord's eyes were boring into his, and he could feel the waves of hatred roll off him. "They didn't want to outlaw Talos's worship. It was the elves."

The Nord stepped back and let out a laugh, eyes roaming the people gathered in the square.

"Ha! See? The coward blames it all on the elves!" His fiery eyes shot back to Cato and he pointed at him again. "Take some responsibility, you gutless son of a bitch!"

Lydia stiffened beside Cato. This was getting way out of hand.

"The Empire is not the ones executing Talos worshipers. The Thalmor are."

"Ah, 'ere he goes again with the damned elves!" He threw his hands in the air and stepped back again. "Yes, man, we _know_ they're the ones who began the war _you_ should have finished. But ya came crying to the Nords when ya got scared your words wouldn't save you! If it wasn't for us your mom and dad wouldn't have had the pleasure to fuck each other senseless and ya wouldn't even be here now. Real shame, that. Maybe we _should_ 'ave let the City fall. Might save us from wasting our goods on your scrawny ass!"

Lydia's anger was boiling up inside her now. This braggart was getting too worked up and had started throwing out personal insults. He was pacing around the circle, eyebrows furrowed and hands wrung together.

" 'The Empire's not executing Talos worshipers' ", the Nord quoted in a sadistic voice. "Ha! That's a good one! And who serves the Thalmor willingly?"

Cato swallowed but remained firm. "Fear of punishment and genocide isn't 'willingly' ".

"Why, then, in the name of Talos, did ya bastards start a war with them?" he roared.

"They didn't start it."

"Declaring war on the elves is considered _not_ starting a war? _That's_ a new one. I'll 'ave to remember it."

"They weren't going to let them take the province without a fight. They tried-" He was cut off by a harsh laugh.

"Oh, don't even start that, Imperial! I said this before! You should 'ave stayed and fought for your home if it meant anything to you!"

"The Empire had to stop. They wanted to prevent another war."

"Oh, yeah, they sure did a good job not startin' any more wars!" Some of the people in the crowd laughed and murmurs of agreement rolled through. The Nord laughed along with them.

Cato sensed the argument was nearing it's close. He was right.

"I'm wastin' my time here on your worthless hide. Your kind doesn't belong here. If ya have even an ounce of courage in ya then fight me!"

Lydia's attention snapped to. She was as still as a statue.

Cato shook his head and raised his hands again, palms facing outward. "I told you, I'm not looking for trouble."

"Coward!" The Nord screeched. "You were looking for it the second ya stepped through those gates!" He started for them slowly but they kept their distance.

"Look, I don't want to fight you. Let's just go our separate ways and-"

"I'm not one of your kind! When something matters to me I stay and see it through!"

"This _doesn't _matter to me. I don't care that you hate the Legion or the Empire or whatever. I wasn't in the War and I didn't sign the treaty."

"No, Provincial, it's not them I hate. I just _really_ don't like you." His voice was dangerously low and he was getting closer to them. "So come on. Fight me. I'll show ya how a true son of Skyrim fights."

The man had nearly cornered them up against a stone wall.

Lydia tugged at Cato's sleeve, trying to tell him to leave. He got the hint.

"I'm sorry. I'm not going to fight you."

The Nord gave a feral growl and in two steps was close enough to give the Imperial a hard push back with both of his massive hands. Cato hadn't been expecting it and was winded as he stumbled and his back crashed against the wall.

Lydia couldn't help it. She saw red. One second she was beside her Thane, and the next she had thrown all her strength behind a massive push back at the Nord. She guessed he hadn't been expecting it either as he stumbled a few steps back and surprise lit up his grimy face.

He smiled though, crooked yellow teeth complementing his stained shirt.

"Ha! Now _here's_ a true Nord!" He pointed at the enraged woman. Looking back to Cato he snarled, "Come on, Imperial. Are ya goin' to let your girlfriend do all your fightin'?"

Cato glared at him and then turned his gaze to Lydia. One look told her she shouldn't have pushed the Nord back. It had only fueled his fire.

She turned around and went back to Cato, head low but heart pounding, and together both of them made to leave.

The Nord wasn't going to let them get away that easily. With an "Oh, no you don't," he grabbed the Imperial's arm and swung him around off his feet. He tossed him back into the middle of the circle and he landed on his back.

It all happened so quickly and both travelers were frozen in place for a moment.

The Nord walked up to Cato, who was looking up at him with mixed shock and concern in his eyes from his position on the ground. He kicked some snow with his boot and it landed on the body of the fallen man.

"Come on, milk-drinker. Fight!"

A deathly quiet settled upon the market square as everyone watching waited to see if he really would.

If this man really wanted a fight, he had no choice but to give it to him. He wasn't going to let him leave without one anyways.

So Cato stood up and threw the first punch.

The crowd cheered as the giant Nord and the small Imperial took out their anger on each other.

Cato was much more agile than the hulk of a man, and he managed to easily dodge most of his massive slow swings. He was able to get more hits in, but they just didn't have the force behind them that the Nord had. It seemed the two were evenly matched.

"Come on, faithless coward!" The Nord cried out between swings. He had been throwing around slurs and personal insults at Cato, egging him on, trying to enrage him even more. It didn't really work, and the Nord only redoubled his efforts.

Lydia hadn't moved from where the Nord had thrown Cato to the ground, and she was watching in awe and utter horror. She should step in and protect her Thane, but she knew this wasn't a deadly fight and that, by honour and tradition, they needed to finish it themselves.

That didn't make it any easier, though, as she watched Cato take a particularly hard swing to the side of the head. The force made him fall to one knee. He shook his head painfully and tried to get rid of the stars that swam in his vision.

"Cato!" she managed to yell out in a strangled voice, and the Nord heard it above the cheering.

"Cato, is it?" he growled with a nasty smile on his face. His voice lowered so only the two of them could hear it and he bent down, face to face with the Imperial who was bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow. "Is that what she cries out to you at night? She could do so much better than you."

The Nord took advantage of his momentary daze and grabbed him by the shoulders, lifting him up, obviously about to throw him to the ground and end the fight. He was taken by surprise, though, when the Imperial stuck a foot behind his own and pushed back. The Nord couldn't keep his balance and toppled backwards, dragging Cato with him.

He landed with a thud flat on his back in the snow, clutching the smaller man to his chest. The cheering abruptly stopped as they realised that the Imperial had won.

The Nord's eyes widened in shock and he threw Cato off of him forcefully. He scrambled to his feet quickly and watched the Nord slowly get up on his.

The two stared at each other a moment, the snow falling between them, and Cato had to hold back a laugh as he watched the Nord's face get redder and redder with rage.

Lydia could only guess the reason the man didn't attack again or pull out a dagger was his staunch Nordic belief in honour. For once she was glad of her race's stubborn ways.

Still dazed, Cato felt he was on autopilot as the Nord vanished into the dissipating crowd and as Lydia guided him out of there, through the snowy streets, and back into their rented room at Candlehearth Hall.

He shook out of it when Lydia brought him a bowl of soup Elda the innkeeper had made. He sat on the bed and practically inhaled it. He didn't realise how hungry he was.

When he was done he looked up at his Housecarl. She was watching him with concern from the chair across the room.

"How bad is it?" he asked, and she came over to sit beside him cross-legged on the bed. She had with her a bowl of warm water and an old rag. He vaguely wondered where she had got it but found he didn't care. He closed his eyes as she dabbed the warm cloth across the cut above his brow.

"Not too bad. This cut is the worst, though you'll have a nice bruised eye for a while."

He let her clean his face in silence. He knew she was comforting him because he'd received worse injuries in the past and she'd merely clapped his back and told him to move on.

The warmth from the cloth felt good against his aching skin. She washed out his cut and gently dabbed at the corner of his eye where a nasty bruise was forming. She used her hand to push back his short hair and clean at another, smaller cut on his forehead. Her hands were not smooth, but rough. The hands of a warrior. He didn't care. They were warm and felt nice. Her hands and the cloth and the warm meal in his stomach as well as the adrenaline leaving his body almost put him to sleep. But he needed to ask her something first.

"Do you believe what the Nord said?" He wasn't convinced he was completely out of his daze when he asked that. And he didn't know if he was talking about Imperials or what the man said about Lydia.

He opened his eyes as he felt her remove the cloth and heard it drop into the water bowl.

Her face was blank but he could see guilt and anger there.

"I did once. Not anymore." She couldn't look him in the eye.

He smiled at her. He knew what she thought of him when they first met.

"That's all I care about."

She wanted to say what the Nord said wasn't true. That he shouldn't listen to the lies and the racial slurs. That the Empire did what they had to do, and he shouldn't be blamed for what happened before he was even born. That he was stronger and braver than any Nord she'd ever met. That she cared about him so much.

That last thought stunned her, and she realised suddenly that she really _did_ care for him. He wasn't just someone to protect and follow on orders anymore. No. She would protect and follow him because he was her friend and she cared about him.

But she was never good with words, and neither was he, so she looked at him and smiled back and put her arms around him into an embrace that said all what she wanted to say and even more.

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**A/N: So I took some artistic licence here and decided that Hrongar, who is Jarl Balgruuf's brother and Housecarl, is also Lydia's father. So that would make Balgruuf her uncle. I decided it worked because why else would she be allowed to train for and accept the second highest position in the military (after Housecarl to the Jarl)? Her uncle would give her a foot in the door. And unlike today and in our own world, being related to someone of high authority and power would not grant you any titles or admiration or fame. Other than, perhaps, chances at opportunities.**

**Also in the game Hrongar is very anti-Stormcloak. I made him anti-Legion here because it just works better with the story. **

**And when fighting, one person wins when the other verbally yields or is thrown onto their back. That's cannon btw.**

**ALSO I just realised that you might not know what the Nord was talking about. He's talking about the Great War (which is really interesting btw) and how the Nords helped push the Aldmeri Dominion (Thalmor) from Cyrodiil, maybe 30ish years before the Dragonborn was taken to Helgen. The Imperials managed to win, but just barely, and the White Gold Concordat was signed which ceded Hammerfell as an Aldmeri province rather than part of the Empire, and which also banned the worship of Talos throughout all provinces under the Empire's control, including Skyrim. This is what starts the civil war in the game.**

**I'm not a nerd, I swear.**


	4. Dragons

**A/N: Hey readers! First off I would like to say sorry for such a long wait! I am in the midst of finals at school, and I am having a difficult time writing my stories what with so many thoughts in my head and so little time to put them on paper.**

**Secondly I'd like to say thanks for all the new reviews, favourites, and follows! I love every one of you, and it means so much to me that you actually like my writing and give me feedback. It keeps me writing and motivates me. Never forget that!**

**Third, I'd like to apologise for the less than stellar quality of this chapter. As I said above, I am very busy and scatterbrained at the moment. Later chapters will be better, I promise!**

**So nothing much happens here, really. Just some dialogue/banter and a dragon fight, hence the chapter title. But I felt I wasn't really exploring Lydia's and Cato's relationship enough, and this thing was produced. There's no real roundness like my previous chapters, and it sort of just went this way. **

**And did you notice how long it is? 7000 words! Woohoo! That is ****_so _****long. Honestly. Twice as long as my other chapters. Hopefully the length will make up for the quality.**

**There's some dragon language in this chapter. I find it annoying how authors don't put translations in until the very end. Because I'm nice, and I know you are all probably too lazy (like me) to keep scrolling to the bottom to understand what's going on, I just put it in brackets right in the text. You're welcome.**

**Dragon language is a bitch to translate.**

**And on a side note, I just watched the Hunger Games for the first time the other night, and one of the character's names was Cato. I swear, I did not steal it from the book/movie! Honestly!**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter. I probably won't get another one out before Christmas, so I'll say this now: Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Hope you have a great holiday if you celebrate it! If not, whatever. That's cool too, I guess. **

**Jk.**

**Review replies are at the very end, in case you were wondering.**

**Long A/N is long. Sorry. I can't write short ones to save my life.**

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Lydia _hated_ dragons.

No, really, she _absolutely despised_ them.

They were monstrously terrifying creatures whose only purpose, it seemed, was to destroy the world of mortals. They weren't good for anything. Well, perhaps only for their bones and scales. They could fetch a good price. But even so her Thane made her drag them around until they found a merchant willing to buy them. They were _so_ heavy.

She'd only ever seen a few in her lifetime, despite being the renowned sidekick to the Dragonborn. She could count the number of times she'd been close enough to make out their features on one hand, and the number of times they'd actually killed one was even fewer.

Three. That was it.

The very first time had been about seven months ago. She'd been travelling with her Thane for nearly five months without so much as a glimpse of one. Indeed, she'd began to question if he really _was_ the fabled dragon slayer, or simply a brigand clever enough to fool the Jarl of Whiterun. But the dragon rose over the steams of the Eastmarch springs, and fire met with steel, and as she watched the soul leave the body of the dragon and wind its way towards the bruised and breathless man, she knew then that she truly _was_ walking with a living legend.

The second time was three months ago. It was nearing the end of the long summer days, and the first warning the little village of Falkreath got was a monstrous roar in the night. Lydia and Cato had raced from their meal in the inn, half covered in armour, to yell to the town guards to douse the rooftops in water before it arrived. The crested head of the old blood dragon spout its flames and shrieked in rage at the dragon-souled man before eventually hurtling into the roof of a barn in a spectacular show of splintered wood and fire and embers and screams. It was lucky the two of them were there, for Falkreath may have met the same fate as Helgen.

The last dragon they killed had sprung upon them unawares a mere month ago. They were on their way to Windhelm from Solitude on that East Empire job, and they happened upon its lair by accident. Cato could tell something was wrong, though, even before the smell of blood and ash reached them. The massive frost dragon had seen them coming and had taken to the mountains, watching them with keen eyes as they made their way unknowingly closer. And the shadow passed overhead as a blast of ice nearly hit the pair of travellers. But when it was over, and the dragon lay dead in the snow at Cato's feet, Lydia knew it's soul would never again fly through the heavens or watch the long years as they passed, but would instead join its brethren and see the world through the eyes of an Imperial man simply trying to make it out alive.

Yes, Lydia hated them. Or, rather, fighting them, for they always drained the energy and strength of them both. It was not easy to kill a dragon - they were massive and immensely powerful and, though she was loathe to admit it, very smart. Dragons had the advantage of flight and fire, too, and Lydia and Cato never walked away from a battle without a few burns and wounds and stories to tell.

And though her friend would always give an exultant whoop at the end, and even when they shared a fierce grin fueled by the flames of dragon-fire and peril, she could tell there was something else. She wasn't really sure, but it was there.

It was seen in the way he staggered and grimaced in pain as the soul of the monster bound itself unto his own. It was how, for a moment, it seemed his bright brown eyes would flash a striking yellow, and a fire all their own would burn within. It was his contemplating silence that night, and how he sat, unmoving and unyielding, staring into the orange flames at camp, as though finding there stories and knowledge unseen to all.

So even though she hated the dragons for what they were and how they killed, the damage they did to her Thane was worse than all of that together.

And so this dragon would be their fourth.

The two friends had been walking through the old and immensely tall pines and beeches and oaks of the Rift's sprawling forests for four days before the familiar roar of a dragon echoed through the trees. They had stopped in their tracks and Cato looked back to her, a knowing gleam in his eye, before they set their packs down, drew their weapons together, and stepped out into a small clearing, eyes to the sky. The dragon finally showed after some tense, silent moments, and the dark orange beast gave its best.

OoOoOoOoO

"Left! Left! Lydia! Go left!" Cato cried out, frantically waving his arm at her. She saw him and nodded, breathing deeply and gripping her sword before sprinting to the dragon's side. The air smelled of blood and burning wood and that foul reek that only a dragon could claim as its own. She soared over blackened logs and across the scorched grasses, eyes never leaving the massive scaly hide of the enraged dragon. It was thrashing about, and in its rage was splintering the trunks of trees that had stood here for untold years like twigs with its gigantic thick tail and oversized claws.

Cato had managed to slice through the thin membrane of its right wing as it landed for a terrestrial attack, rendering it unable to fly. But just because it couldn't didn't mean it hadn't tried. The Housecarl had nearly been blown off her feet by the gusts the beast made with its ruined wings in a desperate attempt to get off the ground. The dust and ash it kicked up nearly blinded her, and she had to stop a moment and rub her watery eyes as she coughed. The heat coming from the beast was nearly unbearable. It parched her throat, and she could see the invisible waves of it emanating from the golden scales. She blinked and then was on her way again, ducking to avoid the swings of its tail and the flying shards of wood.

Lydia and her Thane had a rough strategy when it came to defeating dragons. They would shoot arrows at it into the sky, taking cover behind rocks and hills, before it was enraged enough to come in for a ground attack. Then the two would spring up from their cover and attempt to sever the ties between it and the sky. They'd slash at the wings until it could no longer lift its massive body from the ground. Remove its flight and the battle was nearly won. A downed dragon is a dead dragon.

But dragons do not take kindly to the loss of flight. If one thinks they are terrifying in the sky, they have not seen one on the ground, cornered, with no way out but through.

So these were perhaps the most dangerous moments in dealing with a dragon. The orange beast was blind with pure burning rage and it was thrashing its weakening body around the scorched clearing it had made. Right now it wanted nothing more than to end the shouting match and stamp the Imperial man flat into the dusty ground, and if Lydia didn't hurry up, it just might.

Cato was weakening as well. He was dodging the blows of the animal's clawed fists into the dirt and its massive snapping jaws, all while skirting the absolutely sweltering heat of dragon fire thrust forth from the foul mouth of the utterly livid beast. He was doing alright, but she could see, across the clearing between the bleeding legs of the dragon, that he was getting tired. The fire was missing him more narrowly and the jabs of his ebony sword were not as deep. She needed to hurry.

And so with a harsh cry and barely a moments thought she tore towards the dragon and thrust her Skyforge greatsword through the thick hide and into the flank of the beast, right to the hilt. The scales cracked as she did so, and the golden dragon threw its massive head back and roared so loud and so furiously she was certain everyone in the Rift could hear it.

Lydia let go of her sword, leaving it buried deep inside the dragon, and leaped back. Heart pounding, she took off and sprinted into the trees at the edge of the clearing just before the dragon, lashing and coiling in its white-hot agony, turned and blew a blistering stream of fire where she had been standing only seconds before. She peered from behind a blackened pine and watched, as she always did, in awe as Cato killed the dragon at last.

Lydia had been the distraction he'd needed, and as the dragon was preoccupied by the sharp bite of the greatsword, he'd taken what little time he had to steel his will, fill his lungs, and leap onto the unsuspecting head of the brute. His sweating hands grasped onto the sharp ivory horns protruding from the skull of the animal, and it took everything he had to stabilise himself against the beast's thrashing. It roared and shook its head roughly, and Lydia gasped as Cato was nearly thrown off.

He still had a tight hold on one horn, but he was dangling from the side of the dragon's head, weapon arm with his dark sword swinging about. The dragon tilted its head to the side, fiery yellow eyes burning with hatred, its mouth open. The world slowed and Lydia's blood ran cold as she realised the dragon would have her Thane in its massive and immensely sharp jaws any second now.

But Cato was quicker than the wounded lumbering giant. He used the open maw as a step to leap onto the head again, and in a fraction of a second, before the beast even knew what was happening, he had stood up, positioned the black sword, and, with all the remaining might of his arm, thrust it into the skull of the dragon.

The dragon felt its death-pang and screamed, heaving its bulk up onto its hind legs, thrusting its head to the heavens. Cato could no longer hold on and was thrown to the ground, landing on his side painfully, sword in hand. In a last desperate attempt at escape, the dragon flapped its torn and bloody wings, kicking up even more dust and ash and little swirling embers into the sweltering sky. It was a terrifying but beautiful sight, Lydia thought. But it didn't last long, and with one final earth-shattering roar the dragon stumbled and crashed to the ground, sending Cato darting out of the way to avoid its crushing mass.

It was over.

An eerie silence filled the clearing, and the Dragonborn stood up slowly as the dust settled. Smoke hissed from the blackened logs and burnt grasses, and the air was cleared except for those airborne cinders and flakes of ash, now falling softly like snow onto the dragon and the slayer.

Lydia waited for the flesh to melt and the soul to swirl, but it never came. The dragon was still alive.

She was not close enough to the Dov to see them look into each others eyes, but they did. Tired, triumphant bright brown ones gazed down into those tired, defeated striking yellow ones. Neither moved, and they simply looked at each other.

Eventually the Housecarl stepped gingerly from behind the scorched pine, and she cautiously made her way over to them, stepping over slivers of wood and pockets of hissing slag. She stopped, though, when Cato stepped closer to the beast and bent down on one knee. He placed a hand on the golden snout and listened to the dragon as it spoke.

"Dovahkiin los dii dovahkriid, ruz," (Dovahkiin is my dragonslayer, then) the beast guttered in a deep voice. Lydia froze. She'd never heard a dragon speak before. Not unless it was Shouting fire or ice at her. "Hin mul, Dovahkiin. Hin krif voth ahkrin. Zu'u sahlo. Fahofan Dovah." (You are strong, Dovahkiin. You fight with courage. I am weak. Forgive me.)

Cato shook his head, eyes closed. "Nid, Dovah. Ni los dii Paak." (No, Dovah. It is my shame.) His voice was full of sorrow. Lydia blinked in confusion. Her Thane could speak dragon?

His eyes opened again. "Hin Tivaak?" (Your name?)

The dragon grumbled lightly, and it seemed to Lydia it was a friendly sound. "Nust Tivaak Yolyuvonmaar. Nii los ni vahzah, nii koraav." (They name me Yolyuvonmaar. It is not true, it seems.) The dragon grumbled again, the sound rumbling deep within the dying beast.

The Imperial smiled and shook his head again. "Nid, Yolyuvonmaar. Hin mul. Fahofan Dovahkiin." (No, Yolyuvonmaar. You are strong. Forgive me.)

The dragon took a deep breath and sighed. "Zu'u bo nol daar Gol, zeymah. Zu'u fen aav Dovahkiin nu." (I fly from this earth, brother. I will join you now.) Cato's smile fell. "Tiiraaz mu nis lahney drem." (Sad we cannot live in peace.)

Cato nodded once and he smiled again, sadly. "Osossul. Aus nid lingrah, Yolyuvonmaar." (Someday. Suffer no longer, Yolyuvonmaar.)

With a final shudder the dragon released its last breath. The scales dissolved and the flesh melted, and Cato stood up again. The soul of the golden dragon filled the desolate clearing with a glow the same colour as fire, but somehow softer and warmer. It twisted around Cato's body, and he winced in pain as it entered him. He fell to his knees and pressed his palms to his eyes, blocking out the obvious pain he was in.

When it was over, and the Dragonborn was kneeling in front of a skeleton, hands lowered now, panting, Lydia shook herself from her daze and slowly continued over to him, boots crunching the coals and ashes of the dragons wrath.

She stopped when she was within arms reach, hesitating, not sure what to do. His eyes were closed.

"Cato?" she asked tentatively, deciding to see if he'd respond verbally. Her quiet voice seemed unfit for this place that had seen such ruin and fire.

He didn't answer, and it seemed as though he hadn't even heard her.

"Grik Paak." He shook his head, eyes still closed. "Such a shame."

"Cato, are you alright?" she asked worriedly. She didn't know what he was saying, and she wanted to get them out of here. They needed rest and something to eat.

He opened his eyes and turned his head up to look at her. His eyes were full of sorrow, and he was covered in grime and sweat and dragon blood.

"I'm fine."

Lydia held out her hand to him, and he took it. His own hand was burning hot, and she let go as he stood up.

There was no triumphant laughter or devious grin like all their battles before. The scorched clearing was silent as the Dragonborn looked down onto the bones of the defeated dragon. The only sounds to be heard was the hissing and crackling of charred trees.

"We should go." Lydia felt useless standing there beside him, doing nothing. She turned around to find their packs and extra weapons hidden between the trees.

She returned, having found them safely and in good condition, to her Thane still standing there.

"Why do we fight dragons, Lydia?" He asked, eyes fixated on the bones.

She blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Why do we fight them?" he repeated.

Why was he asking her this? "Because they attack us," she answered pointedly, not sure what he was on about.

"I guess." It was nearly a whisper, and she wasn't even sure he'd said it. He still didn't move.

"Cato, we should go," she said again, more forcefully this time, and she looked up into the sky. It was darkening, and in a few hours night would be upon them, shining the cold stars of winter upon the world.

"This dragon was smart and he was young," he answered. "He didn't want to fight."

Lydia's face screwed in confusion. "Well it did, Cato. It tried to kill us."

"Yolyuvonmaar." He said the word with tenderness in his voice, his eyes softening. "He didn't want to."

"Yolyou- what?" she asked.

"Yolyuvonmaar," he repeated. "Fire Gold Terror. That was his name."

"Oh." What was she supposed to say to that?

They stood there for a while, both silently staring down at the remains of the dragon. Lydia was unsure of what to do. Something was wrong, of course, and it was bothering her Thane, but she didn't know what to say.

An icy wind blew through the clearing, reminding her that it was winter and it was cold, despite the intense heat that was here. She shivered and shouldered her packs, and her Thanes, and reached down to pick up his ebony sword. It was a beautiful weapon, black as night, and he'd picked it off of some dead bandit long ago. It was his favourite weapon, along with his beautifully carved Orcish bow. But it was covered in dragon blood, and so was he. They needed to leave.

So she grabbed his arm lightly and pulled him away from that place. He didn't protest as she led him out of the scorched clearing and into the darkening woods. It smelled better here, of pine needles and snow and fresh clean air, and it was not long before the slivers of Masser and Secunda could be spotted through the canopy.

She led him north through the woods and they walked in silence for hours, not stopping until the twinkling fires of Riften were shimmering between the trees and on the surface of the moonlit lake.

She decided against camping outside tonight, seeing as her Thane needed a good meal, a good rest, and a warm bath to clear his mind and body of blood.

The guards at the gates gave them no trouble, remembering the time Cato had threatened them with an apple and a sharp knife and shown them what he could do with it. And Keerava at the Bee and Barb was more than accommodating, giving them the largest room she had and sending Talen-Jei off to warm some water for a bath.

She paid the Argonian and shut the door, sighing contentedly as she leaned against it.

The room was large, the largest one here, and it had a big bed to the right and a wardrobe and dresser to the left against the wall. A fire was burning low in the hearth at the back wall. It was a nice room, and she knew the innkeeper had given them a good deal.

Cato was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her.

"Thanks." It was the first thing he'd said to her since the clearing.

She smiled. "No worries." She frowned a bit, however, and added, "You shouldn't be sitting on the bed in that armour, though." He looked down at himself. "You're going to get blood and dirt on the sheets and I'm not paying for that."

He laughed then, and she smiled again. She never liked seeing him like this.

"Oh, so it's _your_ money now, is it?" He raised an eyebrow at her, and she moved from the door to kneel by his pack. She was glad he was feeling better.

"Well, it might as well be. You're not capable of managing your gold." She rummaged around in his sack, pulling out a simple clean shirt. "You'd bet the whole town guard a months earnings you could fly if given the chance." He laughed again.

"Yeah, probably."

It was true. He would spend his money on the most ridiculous items he could, and for no apparent reason other than that he had the coin. It was almost as if he'd never had any before. So she'd taken it upon herself to deal with the Septims and ration out their earnings. It was strange, sure, but her Thane was strange, and it was just a part of who he was.

She pulled out some clean pants and stood up to face him again.

"Here." She handed him the clothes and he reached out for them. "Take off your armour and get in the bath when its ready."

He raised an eyebrow suggestively and a little grin slid onto his face. She rolled her eyes. Well, as long as he wasn't moping about tonight she didn't care.

"Just do it, Cato."

His grin widened and he stood up, tossing the clean clothes on the bed. He started unlacing the grimy leather armour from his body, letting it fall piece by piece onto the wooden floor. She took this time to do the same, though her steel armour had simple clasps instead of strings and she found herself waiting for him to finish.

He turned around when all his armour was off but the cuirass, and she went over to him. It was laced at the back and it required another's help.

When she was done it fell to the floor with the rest and he turned around, smiling. He wore a simple chemise under his armour to stop it from chaffing, but it was dirty and probably smelled bad. She didn't want to get too close.

In their travels the two of them had rarely been near enough to an inn to enjoy a warm, well-prepared meal and a soft bed under a roof. It was something Lydia had taken for granted growing up in Whiterun, and it was a sort of treat when they stopped at one. If they were lucky, and the innkeeper didn't hate Imperials too much, they might just get a warm bath with it, too. She was tiring of the quick dips in the freezing rivers. And the best part, perhaps, was that Cato would get cleaned. He _hated_ the cold, which his Housecarl never failed to tease him about, and often refused to enter the icy waters, subjecting her to less than desirable odours when he got too close. She was certain she smelled just as lovely, though, and she never passed the chance to bathe in waters above freezing temperature.

He flopped backwards onto the bed then, surprising Lydia, who was wearing much the same as he, though her clothes were perhaps a little less disgusting. Maybe.

"Aaaahhh hahaha!" He groaned and laughed in happiness as he writhed on top of the roughly sewn quilt and the extra furs. "It's been too long since I've slept in a proper bed!"

She smiled at his childish antics, but she found herself wanting to do the same.

"Cato, get off!" She scolded, laughing lightly. He lifted his head to look at her, a big stupid smile plastered on his face. "Your shirt is dirtier than your armour."

He laid his head back down, completely ignoring her, and he pulled a bit of the quilt up to his face. He breathed it in, closing his eyes, and smiled again.

"Lydia!" He looked back up to her. "It doesn't smell like dirt or smoke!" He was referring to their own bedrolls they used in the wilds.

She shook her head at him. "You are very odd, my Thane."

"No, really. Come and smell them."

She sighed but obeyed him, and walked over to bend down and inhale the sheets. He was watching her with interest, and he smiled widely as she straightened up again, as if asking for confirmation.

She nodded. "Very nice." He was right. They smelled really good, like soap and herbs and just plain clean. "But they're going to smell like dragon blood if you don't get off them."

His smile disappeared at the mention of the dragon. She mentally kicked herself. How could she do that? It seemed as though tonight would be normal.

An icy silence filled the room and she was about to say something when a knock at the door followed by the gravelly voice of an Argonian informed them their bath was prepared.

"You go first," she told him, breaking the tense silence.

"Yeah," he agreed as he sat up on the bed. He grabbed the clean clothes and stood up, walking towards the door. He stopped before he left, and looked back to her.

"I won't be long."

"That's alright. I'll get some food."

He nodded and left her standing there, absolutely despising herself.

She waited until his footsteps disappeared down the stairs to groan in frustration and fall back on the bed like he did. It was warm from his body and she didn't even care that she was dirtying the sheets and that she'd scolded her Thane for it.

Because how could she be so _stupid?_ He was obviously attempting to forget the whole dragon ordeal and she'd gone and ruined it. She was not good at these things. She never knew what to say.

Should she just ignore it like he was? Or should she talk to him about it? Something was obviously bothering him. And, of course, she was curious about the conversation he'd had with the dragon. What did that mean?

She sighed. It had been so much easier when she didn't care about him. If this had happened half a year ago, she wouldn't even be thinking about it now.

It seemed like she never did a very good job of making or keeping friends. There had been others that might have become friends, if she'd spent time and effort on the endeavor. But she thought she was fine being alone. She thought she didn't need anyone. Most people, good and caring and true as they were, always seemed to disappoint her, and in the end she found herself simply avoiding their gazes and their attempts. It was easier.

But she'd never met anyone like Cato. He was maddening and stubborn and arrogant at times. He couldn't cook to save his life, and he hated cleaning his armour and weapons, and he always made her carry his junk around. They constantly argued and teased and sometimes wouldn't even talk to each other. Yes, he was an irritating human. Then again, so was she.

But it was what happened in between those times that endeared him to her.

He always smiled at little stupid things, like the smell of clean sheets.

And Gods but his laugh was wonderful. It rumbled from deep in his chest, and it sounded so genuine, whether he was laughing _at_ her or _with_ her. And he laughed so easily. She didn't know anyone else like that. Other people were more guarded, harder to please, less apt to smile. But her Thane, someone who clearly had seen battle more than once, and before she'd ever met him, still laughed with the innocence of youth.

And the way he always managed to find the perfect place to set up camp. It was as if he'd been across Skyrim before, many times, and knew exactly where the best lookout was, or where the trees were close enough to block out the rain, or where a small stream wound its way nearby.

She would never admit it, but he was very clever. She could lay on her back and listen to him point out constellations in the sky beside her all night long, or go on about the politics of Cyrodiil while they trudged across the land, backs bent with the weight of goods, bodies sweating under the midday sun. She couldn't understand half of what he said, but she liked his voice and his company.

They fought well together, too. She liked her heavy steel armour and her two-handed greatswords while he preferred his lighter leather armour and his little ebony sword and bows. It was strange, she thought, but she would admit that two different fighting styles worked better than similar ones. She was the tank, taking the brunt of the damage, while he would sweep in a volley of arrows from on high or slice enemies from behind with much more grace than she could ever manage.

And they had grown to understand each other without having to say much. When something needed to be said, it was said and they both moved on. Her favourite moments with him were not spent discussing the goings-on of the world, but in silence. They could walk an entire day without a word and be content. She loved sitting at an inn with him, listening to the conversations of others, the only communication between the two being some raised eyebrows and knowing smiles.

And, annoying as he was, she had to smile whenever he stopped to pick flowers for potions, or when he'd halt their hiking to watch the mammoths make their slow journey across the wind-swept plains.

There was just something about him that she liked, and it was enough to start changing the way she did things and thought about the world. He had shown her that not everyone would disappoint, and not everyone was bad. It was so easy being around him, she thought, and she hardly noticed the changes in herself. She smiled more, and laughed more, and her eyes were open to the beauty of the world. She owed him so much.

Someone had told her once, long ago, that sometimes people come into your life and it seems they were meant to be there, and that they will affect you in some profound way. She'd laughed at that, of course, but that was before she'd met the Dragonborn. He was destined for great things, and he was the hero in everyone's lives. But they didn't know him like she did.

He'd done so much for her, changed her life, and the least she could do was ask him about his day.

She smiled, thinking back on things they'd done, and the reasons why he was her friend. Her thoughts were interrupted by her stomach growling, and she remembered she'd promised to have food for when Cato got back. So she heaved herself up off the bed and crept down the creaky wooden stairs, aware that it was late and the other patrons were likely asleep.

She was right, mostly. In the dim light of the common area she could make out two shadowy figures in a corner and an old man sitting at the bar. It was mostly silent there, except for Talen-Jei's broom scraping across the wooden floors and the fire crackling in the hearth.

Keerava offered to make Lydia a hot meal, but the kitchen fire was low and it would take too long, so she decided to buy some fresh bread and cheese. It wasn't her first choice, and she would have much rather eaten some meat or soup, but she was too hungry to care. And as much as she disliked the Black-Briars, she bought a bottle of their ale. If they couldn't eat what they wanted, perhaps the drink would make up for it. She thanked the Argonian and collected the food, creeping past the shadowy patrons and up the squeaky stairs.

She knocked on their bedroom door just to make sure. She didn't want to walk in on Cato getting dressed.

"Yeah," he answered through the door.

"It's me. I've got food."

"Hold on a second." She could hear him moving in the room, and a moment later he opened the door.

Her eyes widened when she saw him, and the first thing she noticed was that he'd shaved his short scruff so his face was bare.

"You shaved," she said blankly. He raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I did." He put a hand to his face and felt where his skin was now smooth. "Figured I should." She didn't answer him, and he smiled. "What, you don't like it?"

No, she most definitely _did_. He looked so much younger without facial hair. And so much nicer.

"No, I do. I mean, well, you don't look like a bandit anymore." His smile widened.

He normally had a bit of hair on his face, but it was short and it didn't really suit him. Imperials couldn't pull off beards as well as Nords. Whenever he got the chance he'd usually shaved a bit off, but never this much. Never all of it.

She liked it.

He didn't answer her, but he stepped aside to allow her into the room. He had on the clean clothes she'd given him.

"And your skin. I can actually see it. It's not the shade of dirt and blood after all, I see." She set the plate of food down on the little bedside table and he shut the door, laughing. "You clean up well, my Thane."

"Yes, well, one hardly has time for hygiene while fixing all of Skyrim's problems." She sat down on the bed and started slicing the bread with the knife Keerava gave her. He sat beside her. "You know how it is."

She snorted. "Yes, I do. I need to get cleaned up as well. I'm hungry, though." She handed him a slice with some cheese and he thanked her. "I didn't want to wait for something warm, so I just got this. Sorry."

He shoved the bread and cheese into his mouth rather ungracefully. "I don't even care. I'm starving," he muffled out.

She smiled. "And I got this." She reached over and picked up the bottle of Black-Briar mead and opened it. His face lit up and he covered his mouth with his hand as he laughed again.

"Lydia, you are my favourite, you know that?" he chuckled, mouth full, as she handed it over to him.

"I know," she stated matter-of-factly, earning herself another smile. She watched him as he took a swig and swallowed it, sighing in satisfaction.

"That's good." He gave her the bottle and she took a drink herself. The ale swirled down her throat and settled warmly in her stomach. It had a slight woody taste but it was sweet as honey. No wonder it was considered the best.

"Mhm," she affirmed, and they ate their food and ale in silence, listening to the fire and being happy they were inside and warm and together.

When Lydia was nearly full she looked up into Cato's face. She couldn't believe how nice he looked when he cleaned up. Sure, she'd always thought him alright-looking. He was never anything special, though, and his lean figure and short height had put her off for the longest time. Not to mention he was an Imperial, and she was a Nord.

She'd always liked his eyes, though. They were not strikingly blue like most others', just a simple brown. But they were bright and she liked the way they sparkled in the firelight and how the skin around them crinkled when he laughed. She squinted, noticing a discolouration around his right eye.

"I didn't even know you still had that," she nodded her head, gesturing to the bruise he still wore from when that Nord had hit him back in Windhelm. It was much fainter, though, and yellow now instead of black and blue, but it was still there, encircling his eye and over to his temple. She shuddered a bit. That trip had _not_ gone well at all.

"Yeah, it's still there," he grinned after he swallowed his food. "Though look what I got today." He lifted the fabric of his shirt up enough to let her see another large purple bruise on his side. It was elongated and nearly ran down the whole length of his torso, from his hip up to his armpit.

Lydia gasped. "Ow, how'd that happen? Are you alright?" She reached out a hand to touch it but thought she better not.

"Yeah I'm fine. Hurt's a bit, but I've had worse." He let his shirt fall again and she gave him a concerned look. "I think I got it when I fell from the dragon earlier."

Another silence filled the room. He'd brought up the dragon on his own this time, so she took it as a hint. He wanted to talk.

She shuffled back on the bed so she was leaning against the wall. She breathed out before she began.

"About that…" Ugh. She was _so_ bad at this.

He looked to her, waiting for her to continue.

"What happened today? With the dragon, I mean?" He tore his gaze from hers and stared into the flames of the hearth.

"I don't really know." She remained silent, waiting until he was ready. "He spoke to me, though. Yolyuvonmaar."

She knew it. She knew Cato had talked with the beast earlier. "What did he say?" She tried to keep the interest out of her voice, but to no avail.

He moved his hands into his lap unconsciously, still staring into the flames. "Not a lot, really. He just told me his name. And he said he was sorry."

Lydia's eyes widened in surprise. "Sorry? Sorry for what?"

"I don't know." He stood up from the bed and walked over to the fireplace, placing a hand on the wall above and leaning against it. His eyes were firmly locked on the fire.

His back was facing her, but she could tell by his posture that something was off. She didn't say anything.

"I think…" he started, not sure whether to continue or not. "I think Alduin is making the dragons fight. I think he's forcing them."

Again, Lydia was stunned. "Forcing them?"

"I think so. Yolyuvonmaar said he was sorry. I don't think he wanted to fight us."

She didn't know what to say. She was skeptical of this whole situation. "How could a dragon be forced to fight, Cato?"

"I _don't know_" he answered back tersely, irritation or frustration in his voice, she couldn't tell. "He did, though. But he was sorry."

"Are you sad you killed him?" she dared to ask. Her voice was quiet, trying not to enrage him.

He sighed and lowered his head. "No. I mean, maybe. He did try to kill us, though. It's not like I had a choice."

She moved back across the bed so she was sitting on the edge again.

"No, you didn't. You had to. Don't feel bad."

He laughed wryly. "It's funny though, isn't it?" He turned his head to gaze back at her. "I'm the Dragonborn. The prophesised dragon-slayer. Hero of Skyrim!" He raised his hands in mock praise. "And here I am foolishly worrying about a stupid dragon." He turned around again, leaning against the fireplace, staring within. "I don't know."

She stood up from the bed and walked over to stand beside him. "You don't have to know. But it's not stupid if it means something to you."

He looked up from the flames and into her face again. His eyes darted from side to side as if searching for an answer in her gaze.

"I just… I'm a little worried, I guess. I know I have to kill them, but I don't really want to. They're beautiful creatures. They are _so_ intelligent, Lydia. So clever. It's such a shame."

Her heart ached to see such sorrow in his usually shining eyes. "I know. But you can't let them go. They're killing people, Cato. You're doing the right thing."

"Am I? What if they all don't want to? What do I do?"

She smiled warmly. "You do what you were meant to do, Dragonborn."

He smiled back.

She jerked her head to the side. "C'mon. Let's get some sleep. I'm tired."

"Yeah. Good idea."

OoOoOoOoO

"What does it feel like?"

"Hm?" He asked groggily, right on the verge of sleep.

"Absorbing a dragon soul. What's it like?"

He inhaled sharply and turned onto his side to look down at her from the bed. She could hardly make out his face in the darkness, but she could tell his eyes were barely open.

He let out his breath. "I don't know. Hot."

She snorted and took her eyes off the ceiling to look at him. She shifted her position on the ground to get more comfortable, pulling the furs closer. "Hot? Really? Thanks."

"Well, what do you want? You woke me up." His voice was thick with sleep.

"No I didn't. We were just talking a minute ago."

He sighed, obviously too tired to argue. "I don't know, Lydia. It's hot. It hurts. I don't like it."

She was quiet for a moment, contemplating something.

"Alright," she started. He turned over again on his back, thinking the conversation was over.

"But can you feel the dragons inside you? Right now, I mean? Or do you ever feel them?"

He groaned. He was obviously not getting out of this one anytime soon. "No. I can't feel them. Not now. I do whenever I kill one, though."

She was silent again, thinking.

"It's like, you know when you're about to fall asleep, you're almost there, and your whole body all of a sudden feels like it's falling? Like you're falling off a cliff or something? It's sort of like that. The whole world lurches and spins and it feels like I'm falling. Then the other dragons inside me, it's almost like they get angry and want to get out. It feels like they're breathing fire inside, and it hurts. And the dragon I just killed doesn't want to go with them. And it gets harder every time."

He let her consider that for a moment. "There. That good enough?"

She answered after another moment's contemplation. "So, it's like falling, and it's hot. And it hurts," she probed slowly.

"Mhmm."

"I still don't get it."

He groaned again. "You don't need to. Go to sleep."

She heard him turn over on his side to face the wall, and she smiled to herself.

"You _sure_ you can't explain it better or someth-?" She was cut off as a pillow was thrown onto her face from above. She took it off.

"Hey, that wasn't nice." There was the slightest trace of amusement in her voice.

"I said go to sleep."

"That's fine. I needed another pillow anyways."

"Gods help me."

* * *

**A/N: I decided to put my review replies down here because of that utterly massive intro author's note. I don't want to scare people away.**

**Ruinus: Thanks for your review! Glad you like it so far!**

**Valerianus: Thanks again for another lovely review! You always manage to put a smile on my face :) Sorry this chapter is not amazing. Others will be better though. And yes, this chapter is (attempting) to give us a better glimpse at their relationship, which is sort of love/hate atm. Mostly love, but with some pretty good hate. Hope you enjoyed it!**

**Aefnung: Thanks! I always thought it should have been looked at more since, you know, civil wars are pretty big deals, and Skyrim doesn't do a great job at it. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**Prometheus16: D'aww :) Thanks for the review!**

**Thunderer93: Thanks so much! I'm glad you're enjoying them so far! I'm not sure they're the best Skyrim fics out there, but your comment made me all warm and fuzzy and gooey inside anyways. Hope you liked this one too!**

**Yeghishe: Thanks for the review! Glad you like them! Enjoy! :)**


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